


One of Four

by Sigmund



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: AU, Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 07:23:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1770562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sigmund/pseuds/Sigmund
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>d'Artagnan feels he has been abandoned by the three musketeers, and starts a new life, but a return to France brings them together again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oi! I wonder what goes through my mind-- well throwing angst and hurt at d'Artagnan evidently. I came up with this and hope you like.

When d'Artagnan arrived at the garrison he was directed to go immediately to Treville's office. He was surprised to see his friends there waiting for him, looking grim. "Has something happened?" He thought about Constance, took a step back.

Athos gripped his upper arm to steady him. "You are to be arrested for the murder of the Spanish Ambassador Juan de Marcos."

There was relief, then confusion. "Who?"

"A year ago at an inn in Paris," Treville prompted.

He looked at his friends, remembering he had explained what happened. "I did not kill him. It was Milady de Winter."

Aramis was leaning on Treville's desk. "Who is missing and was a spy for the Cardinal."

"What is the plan?" He stepped into Athos's space. "I entrust myself to you."

They all looked away. Treville stood to deliver the news. "For you to run."

D'Artagnan shook off Athos's arm. All he had worked for was to be gone in an instant. "What? Desert the musketeers?"

"For now. This isn’t like with Athos—we knew the culprit was out there, but the real murder in this case is beyond our reach." Treville came around, placed he hands on the young man's shoulders.

He wanted to collapse, and found himself being eased into a chair. He bent forward, hands tangled in his hair. "Where should I go?"

Treville had moved away, and Porthos bended down to his knees. "Flea can help. We need to go now."

He was roughly hugged, passed from Aramis to Treville to Athos. "Don't lose hope. We will see justice done." D'Artagnan could not stop the tears from spilling, streaking down his face. He did not try to wipe them away. There was no hope, just despair, the absence of hope.

D'Artagnan allowed himself to be guided out of the garrison's walls by Porthos who pressed a pouch into his hands. "It was all we could collect for you. I'm sorry, d'Artagnan. I wish it was more."

Porthos did not want to leave him in the court. "This will turn out. We'll be drinking in a tavern soon enough. Eh?" He pounded d'Artagnan's back, kept looking back until he could no longer.

Flea escorted him into the inner sanctum of the Court of Miracles. "You aren't one of them."

"What?" He sat at the table with a sparse plate of food in front of him.

She sat down next to him. "You aren't one of them, and you never will be. Sad, really. They've got a history." She shrugged, then one of the children caught her attention and she shooed them away.

"I'm a musketeer." The pauldron was still on his shoulder. They hadn't taken that. It was his.

She knocked on the pauldron. "No, you ain't. Not now. Never. This here is all over."

D'Artagnan could not stay in the court. Athos, Aramis and Porthos would not be able to find Milady, and the rest was political machinations. They had forced him to run because they knew they could not save him from hangman's noose. He had to make a new way, faraway from France. "I'll be gone in the morning."

"Figured as much," Flea said.

((()))

Dressed in their finery the musketeers were on duty awaiting the entourage of the Sultan Murad of the Ottoman Empire. It was the first time that the Sultan had traveled outside of the empire in order to open trade with France along with a treaty to not encroach French land. The Ottoman Empire still wanted to grow, and the King wanted peace on his fronts since wars were expensive.

"They have strange ways," Porthos commented at the ornate caftans, robes and turbans worn by the guests of court.

"They are exotic," Aramis said, intrigued by the novelty. "Their women are covered."

Behind the sultan and the other heads of state there were men that were obviously soldiers, guards. "They don't look like Turks." Porthos stated the obvious.

Athos took more interest, focusing on the lead guard. Hair was longer, tied back, and there was a scar across his forehead and another one apparent on his jaw, still the same build, but more mature wearing a long leather robe with fine filigree and a recognizable sword around his waist. "d'Artagnan?"

"What?" Porthos asked, following Athos's stare. "That's d'Artagnan."

"He's alive," Aramis added. "How is it possible that he is here?" He asked the other two who had no answer just more questions that needed to be answered.

((()))

The view from inside the palace was different than he remembered, never having been a guest before with a room for himself. He felt as though he did not belong. The sultan was resting, and d'Artagnan had placed rotating guards at his door, ordering the others to get some rest. There was a knock at the door. "I've given my orders, Planchette. I will join you in a moment."

Planchette as usual entered, the knock just a warning. "Sire, the ones you expected."

D'Artagnan raised a brow at the use of sire from one of his men. They rarely used honorific terms with their leader, but they knew his story and these three musketeers. Aramis, Athos and Porthos still seemed bigger than life, still fit and ready to take on challenges. They were still inseparable and had not added a fourth to their group. It was telling for him, and a stab to what he thought was his well healed heart. It was in the past, he was a different man. "You can leave. Check on the men."

Planchette, a burly man, older than d'Artagnan gave a sidelong glance to the three musketeers. "I would be happy to remain, Sire."

D'Artagnan could not stifle the grin. He took Planchette by the elbow and walked him to the door. "The pretense is not necessary. Amusing, though."

The devoted soldier shrugged his shoulders, then bowed before exiting, closing the door to leave d'Artagnan with a six year chasm that was too far to bridge. It was Athos who surprisingly started the conversation.

"Your men are loyal."

A dozen men were with him, and then the army of the sultan, but it was the dozen with him that he had forged bonds with, sharing truths. "Very."

Aramis stepped forward, reaching out a hand that d'Artagnan studied. "How did you envision the first meeting?" When it was not clasped right away, the sharpshooter let it drop, instead patting d'Artagnan's shoulder.

The younger man knew it was to make sure he was real. The contact was the same for him. "Bloodshed was involved."

"We missed you," Porthos stated, looked towards Athos before continuing, "We looked for you after we settled the matter. Where did you go?"

He had not hid the fact he had taken a ship out of Paris, making his way to the Ottoman Empire. He knew full well it was beyond the reach of the Musketeers, but there was always that secret hope that they would come to him. "Flea made me realize that I needed to depend on myself."

Athos's eyes widened, then relaxed. "I see."

Porthos growled. D'Artagnan assumed that there would be a discussion with Flea, yet she had only done what was necessary, showing him a kindness with the blunt truth.

"How did you come into the service of the sultan?" Aramis asked, looking him up and down. There was nothing on him from his previous life except his sword.

As much as d'Artagnan believed he was prepared for this meeting he was not. He thought there might have been apologizes or bloodshed in anger, instead he felt nothing. He did not want to share the six years they were not present for, which may have been selfish. They were the memories of his journey. "It's a long story, and I need to attend to his safety."

Athos nodded his head in understanding of duty. "Come tomorrow to the garrison."

D'Artagnan started to shake his head. It would be different if this were happening in Bagdad. The garrison, Paris was in fact musketeer territory.

"Bring some of your men," Aramis added.

D'Artagnan rubbed the scar on his temple, a bad vice he had picked up without Nadira to tell him stop. "Perhaps. It's been a long journey and there are duties."

Porthos looked past the awkwardness, embraced d'Artagnan in a stiff hug. "I'll take that as a yes."

((()))

The three of them were silent as they walked to the stable for their horses. There would be time at the garrison to have a further conversation. Before them were some of the men who had come with the sultan.

"Look, they want to see us off. Incredibly nice of you." Aramis hand moved to his sword.

Planchette was nonplussed. "We know about you, like he knows about us. We'd die for him, defend him."

Athos was proud that d'Artagnan was well respected although it was unfair. He had wanted to be there to see the young man come into his own as a musketeer, not in the service of another king in a far off land. "Good to know."

"He is the most honorable man we know," one of the other men called out.   "We'd give our life for him."

Athos raised his brows. "I do not believe it will come to that."

"He's a friend," Porthos stated.

Athos was unsure if they could use that term. They had abandoned d'Artagnan, then thought he was dead. It was Athos's fault for giving Milady quarter to never answer for her crimes, his failure for not being able to maneuver the situation better until it was too late, much too late.

Planchette shook his head. "We're his brothers."

Aramis visibly flinched. They had made themselves clear and allowed them to pass.


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos. I hope you enjoy the second part and conclusion.

Aramis thought about begging as they waited and hoped for d'Artagnan to show himself. They had performed their duty in the morning, and saw d'Artagnan with the sultan. He wanted to beg for a second chance. It was late in the day when d'Artagnan rode in with three of his men with him.

"You came!" Aramis had hoped that there would be forgiveness in d'Artagnan's heart for them. His prayers six years ago had been for God to intervene and find a way for d'Artagnan to be vindicated. The prayers changed when they had discovered that the Gascon had left the privacy of the Court of Miracles. It was a prayer for God's will- they wanted to keep d'Artagnan safe, but they wanted him with them. Then he had prayed for the young man's soul when they believed he was dead.

"It was an opportunity to practice our skills." They handed their horses to the stable hand waiting nearby. "You've met Planchette, and this is Darab. Aramis, Athos and Porthos."

"Pleasure," Aramis gave a little bow. The others were letting him take the lead. He studied Planchette, stocky and short, but they had already witnessed his loyalty, while Darab was tall, his skin dark in a different tone than Porthos. "Sword work?"

The pairing was Planchette and Aramis and Darab with Porthos while Athos's opponent was d'Artagnan. Suddenly, Aramis did not believe this was too wise. The fights were well-matched, Aramis had barely bested Planchette and Porthos and Dabar remained at a tactical draw. They were drawn in by the clanging of swords between d'Artagnan and Athos.

Aramis saw that the cockiness of d'Artagnan's youth was replaced with confidence and earned skill.   Their fight was relentless with Athos faltering twice under d'Artagnan's attack. The second time d'Artagnan stepped back a few steps as if trying to gain civility.

"Are you a betting man?" Planchette sidled up to Aramis.

Aramis shook his head. "That would be Porthos."

Porthos crossed his arms. "I am not taking this bet."

Planchette lifted his chin at Darab who stood a head taller than him. "He will win."

In a few more moves, d'Artagnan's hovered the point of his blade at Athos's side, pressing it into the protective tunic. "Head over heart."

Athos nodded with a small grin, putting down his blade. It was inevitable that it would happen, d'Artagnan would overtake Athos. "Wise advice that I must remember for in the future."

d'Artagnan went to the horse trough, bent down to cup the water over his head, then took out the ties that kept his hair secured, shaking it out for a moment.

"Water could have been brought if you wished to clean."

Planchette and Darab snickered.

"Am I missing something?"

"In the desert water is most precious. This is fine for my use." He squeezed his hair, which fell past his shoulders, then returned it to its ties. It was the same style that Darab wore, Aramis noted.

They convened at their table, water and ale poured. Darab shifted from foot to foot in a nervous, uncomfortable energy. He was ready to act and protect his leader.

"Have you seen Constance?" Aramis blurted trying to fill the awkward silence. Constance attended the Queen and was frequently seen in court.

D'Artagnan's hand went to the scar on his temple, then dropped. "She looks well. All that has passed."

Treville called out from the balcony above. "Do you have a moment, d'Artagnan?"

d'Artagnan nodded and headed up the stairs while his men watched his wake. Planchette was still looking up when he spoke, "He was married and is still true to her memory." He then diverted his attention back to the three other men. "He is not the person he was-whatever that was here."

The boy they remembered had led another life, one where he was married to a woman who was not familiar to them.

"Do you know about the scars?" Porthos gestured to his temple and jaw.

Darab nodded. He spoke with a faint accent that Aramis was not familiar with. "Of course. I was there at the battle, against our enemies. He survived."

"We deserved that," Athos drawled at the distinct lack of information.

"He won't come back, if that's what you're thinking," Planchette added.

"You know this for sure?" Aramis was thinking how he wanted to go back in time to change their actions. However, he would take a miracle that would see d'Artagnan restored to them.

"Yes."

(())

Constance could not hide her shock, not from the Queen and not from the musketeers who were her friends. Somehow Anne had arranged a private meeting between d'Artagnan and Constance in the gardens. "You look well."

D'Artagnan laughed. It was a sound she believed she would never hear again, but it was different from her memory, less carefree. "I look different. Older, not so pretty."

"Neither am I." She wore the six years heavily, the time not gaining her any children and a husband she did not love. "You're dashing." It was true he was older, more soldier like and less boy.

He looked away at her compliment. This d'Artagnan was uncomfortable around her, the other, younger d'Artagnan would have replied in kind with a compliment that would have her blushing. "They mourned for you. I did, too."

"I'm sorry," he replied.

"So am I." She fanned herself. She had become more astute. There was another woman who had claim on d'Artagnan's heart. "Are you married?"

"I am. I was." He sighed. "She died along with our son."

Constance's heart broke at the loyalty he still gave his deceased wife. "What was she like?" It was difficult for her to ask, hoping that she was her opposite.

"Spirited, beautiful, smart. You would have liked Nadira." They had reached the end of the walkway. Both of them were expected to return to their duties. D'Artagnan reached for her hand and kissed it, then wrapped it in both of his hands.

"Am I ever going to see you again?" She whispered as the emotions overcame her.

He did not answer, instead giving her hand a squeeze before he walked away.

((()))

He accompanied the sultan on a ride on the farthest part of the palace, his men with were there, but allowed a distance between d'Artagnan and the sultan for their privacy. Many times they would speak in private in this manner.

D'Artagnan was not a mercenary for hire, and neither were his men. He had saved the sultan's life, and became a part of the sultan's trusted circle eventually creating a private guard for the sultan and his family. He would be dishonest with himself if he did not admit that he based it on the musketeers.

Murad slowed his horse. "I am looking forward to home, my friend. How do you fare?"

D'Artagnan's knowledge of Arabic was still growing, but he tried his best. "It is difficult to answer."

"Your friends look at you with longing. It is easily seen," Murad stated. The sultan was a confident man and compassionate. It made him a great leader and easy to follow.

"They long for the child I was." D'Artagnan was not being hard on himself- he had been a child when he first met the three musketeers, reeling from his father's death, then deciding to give up his farm for a life of soldiering.   It made him latch onto to a viewed friendship to bring himself some balance and comfort.

Murah gestured to the finery that d'Artagnan wore- his clothes from Bagdad of the finest materials shot through with beading and threading to show his importance to the sultan. "Not the man from Bagdad? Do they know that man?"

He did not wish to share with Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, his life over wine to try to seek their pride in him. He relished his win over Athos in swords, but longed for more approval from the older man. "No, I have distanced myself and yet I expect more from them."

"Your actions and their actions are frustrating." Murad touched his forehead. "He who knows he who knows not, and knows not that he knows not, is a fool, shun him; He who knows not, and knows that he knows not, is a child, teach him. He who knows, and knows not that he knows, is asleep, wake him. He who knows, and knows that he knows, is wise, follow him."

D'Artagnan winced at the reprimand through the Persian proverb. "It is why you are a great leader, Sire." He was trying to prove he had grown in a less rash man, and in doing so had hid his feelings. "I should be honest."

"Do you wish to remain? I would hate to see the Captain of my guards leave, but Allah guides."

D'Artagnan did not know if it would be so easy. It was a temptation, like Constance. Yet, there were things that mattered to him- his honor in serving Murad, who had honored him in return, treated him as valued. It could not be dismissed. He also wanted to stand with his men, this bond he had formed with them as an equal and also as a leader.

He prayed for Nadira's counsel in these times. She had helped him find his way in a strange place with strange customs, and he needed her now in France to navigate his emotions. "No, I wish to remain in your service."

Murad smiled, bowed his turbaned head. "Good. The French, they are confusing in their ways."

D'Artagnan knew what his next action would be. "They are."

((()))

Porthos was practicing throwing knives when d'Artagnan entered the garrison alone, dismounting before his horse had even stopped fully. Athos greeted him first, but d'Artagnan seemed to be done with niceties. This was the hothead that Porthos remembered, was waiting to see.

"May we use Treville's office for this discussion?" d'Artagnan asked, but he already must have known that the musketeer captain was at the palace. They followed him into the office. They had just filed in when d'Artagnan turned on them.

"I wanted to be honorable and above all this, this tested my very soul and for what?" He threw his hands up to encompass the garrison. "To hear that I mattered. That I had loyal friends."

"d'Artagnan-" Athos started.

There was a wrapped package in d'Artagnan's hand, which he pushed to Athos. "This is yours." The cloth dropped away to reveal the Musketeer pauldron. "I'm not one of you."

"I won't accept this." Athos held it out away from him, towards d'Artagnan. "You'll always be one of us."

"No, I wasn't. You cut me out. I've had another life, and you remember the naïve d'Artagnan. He's not here anymore, not for six years. The foolish boy disappeared when he was told there was no hope for salvation by the three men he held in the highest esteem of brotherhood." d'Artagnan wiped a hand down his face. "All I could think of was my father- how his tenants, friends, neighbors respected him, were loyal to him, and I gave up the farm life to be a soldier. For sure my father cursed me from heaven to see me abandon France."

"Your father wanted you happy and was proud of his son," Aramis said, holding the cross around his neck. "Doubt us, but not him."

"I thought taking you to Flea would keep you safe," Porthos explained, bearing the blame that haunted him. He had gone to Flea and had words with her once he found out what had happened six years ago. Finally, free to talk about it directly. "We did not want to lose you to the hangman for something you did not do. We wanted to protect you. We did not think you would leave the country."

"We made the decision together for what we thought was the best." Aramis did not want Porthos taking the blame.

"God, what would have been your worse? I would have gone to the gallows at least believing that you _tried_. That you cared, that I wasn't tossed away like refuse." d'Artagnan was furious. The calm demeanor had spilled away. He had reached his breaking point. "I thought this was my destiny…"

Porthos felt the tears welling.

Athos placed a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder. "It still can be."

d'Artagnan shook it off. "No, it is not so easy. Do you not see me?" He pointed to the scars. "I'm not an apprentice practicing at war, marching around a palace. Somehow I became a man that people respect. I can't see that here."

Porthos nodded. "We respect you." Porthos gave a sidelong glance to Aramis. "We want to know you. We know you had a wife, we know there was a battle and that is where the scars came from. We want to be brothers."

"A little brother, my friend, a little brother." D'Artagnan shook his head. "I've spent more time as a knight of the sultan than I did as a musketeer. I made a vow to him. I still have honor."

Athos looked down, clenched his fist. Porthos had seen the action before when Athos felt like there was nothing to grasp. "I'm sorry. I want to undo my mistakes. It was my error with Milady, sending you to run and hide, not searching for you in all corners of the world."

D'Artagnan leaned against Treville's desk with his head bowed. He seemed to be calming. "There is a part of me that wishes to be brutal, and tell you the fault lies on your shoulders to punish you for what I thought was my happiness being taken away from me."

"We deserve that—all of us, not just Athos." Porthos would stand with his brothers. They were the inseparables. It was what they should have done six years ago with d'Artagnan—stood with him.

D'Artagnan shook his head. "This has caused some of those feelings to return, seeing the three of you and knowing I was an outsider then."

"That's not fair. You knew us for a year whereas your current companions you have known for much longer," Aramis retorted, then tapped his finger against his lip. "But this is about you believing that had it been myself or Athos or Porthos in your situation then we would fought harder?"

"Yes. Didn't I witness that time and time again?" d'Artagnan thought of Athos in jail and Porthos being framed for murder. They did not epically fail their brothers, but he had been abandoned.

"Milady was out of our reach and a play against the Cardinal would have been hard met. I would have gotten on my hands and knees with if that would have helped," Athos bowed his head. "I should have."

"We should have been by your side through it all." Porthos understood. Hadn't that brought him comfort in the worst of situations, his brothers by his side to see him through to the bitter end.

"I came to tell you all the truths and that without my path changing then I would not have met the sultan. He's as honorable of a man as I have ever met. I would never have encountered my wife and these men I now stand with. They have a saying at my wife's home; the best memory is that which forgets nothing but injuries. Write kindness in marble and write injuries in the dust. I will try to write this in the dust."

Athos brought d'Artagnan's pauldron to his chest. "Wise words."

"With the time we have left maybe you can tell us about you, not the other man we used to know because I can tell that we would like him, respect him even." They had been trying to meld the young and the older man they once knew together, without accepting who he had become. Porthos hoped they would get another chance.

"There is a tavern, one you may like where we could talk over wine from Gascony," Aramis suggested. The marksmen had found the tavern and they went from time to time because the owner was a Gascon, and it served as a reminder for them.

D'Artagnan nodded.

Porthos opened the door for the others with Aramis leading the way and d'Artagnan and Athos side by side, the pauldron still in his hands.

((()))

Treville had retired to Gascony and Athos had been deemed worthy to be his successor- a job that frustrated him. Aramis and Porthos still were musketeers, the two he trusted the most. He was locked in his office, a lock the only deterrent from interruptions when there was a knock. "Come back later."

"You have an important guest that requires immediate entrance," Aramis answered nonplussed.

Athos growled. With Aramis it may be a dog or a dignitary, Athos thought it best to relinquish his chair and unlock the door. He was shocked at the familiar face that greeted him- a beaming Porthos and Aramis behind him.

d'Artagnan nodded. "The sultan has died, and I thought it was time to change course again, Captain. From your letters I thought that my services may be of interest."

"Oh?" Athos recovered and stepped aside to allow d'Artagnan to enter. Aramis and Porthos held the door and entered with him as Athos was about to make it a private conversation.

d'Artagnan stood in the center of the room. "Some of my men, former men, will remain and the others wished for a more quiet life with family. They have earned that."

Athos leaned on the front of his desk. "Not you?" They had exchanged letters, learning more about life in Bagdad while sharing the news in France with the Queen sitting as regent until her son came of age.

"Not me."

"The Musketeers are always in need of good men with experience. Another brother." As before Aramis brought forward d'Artagnan's old pauldron. It had been kept in the office for safekeeping filled with hope and a reminder of despair. "It's yours. The king never decommissioned you. You were always a musketeer."

Aramis buckled the mark of the musketeer onto d'Artagnan's shoulder, and Athos knew before him stood the man that would be the greatest of them all. "All for one and one for all."

The chorus was repeated by all.

The end


End file.
